A Hero in the Shadows
by brokenbottleaurora
Summary: The Ministry fears Harry has become too powerful and wants to lock him away. Harry goes into hiding but still wants to do some good in the world. Absurd wealth, immense power, and an accidental secret identity- what else could it be? A different take on the Superhero!AU with a healthy dose of trope-iness.
1. Chapter 1

A Hero in the Shadows

The Houses Competition

Hufflepuff, HoH

Standard

Prompt: [Speech] "I'm gonna die, and I don't even know your name."

WC: 1992, per GDocs

AN: Indulge me here. I saw this prompt and just knew it was begging for a Superhero!AU. While I'm at it, I'm going to change a few things about canon that I didn't like and aren't integral to any of the canon plot (meaning that, unlike JKR, I refuse to kill off Fred or Dobby for no good reason). I also utilize the occasional Notice-Me-Not Charm, which is totally not canon but should be. In my world, it simply keeps people from seeing you if they aren't specifically looking for you, so that's how you should read it here. Finally, I'm going to toss in a little "Lord Potter-Black" and exorbitant wealth for the hell of it. If it was good for Batman, it stands to reason that it'll be good for my Harry.

So here we are: a post-war canon-divergent semi-Superhero!AU in which neither Fred nor Dobby dies and Harry decides to actually use the vast wealth his parents and Sirius left him. I had a blast writing it. Hope you enjoy!

AN2: Tom Snyder was the host of "The Late Late Show" through 1999. Just so you know!

* * *

"Lord Potter-Black, if you would just come down and let us register a new power reading," Unspeakable Croaker begged. "You're the first living person to have been possessed by a Horcrux for most of your life and then survive the separation. As you know, this should theoretically increase your magical power exponentially, and we have reports that this is likely true in your case. Our department would greatly appreciate it if you would—"

"For the thousandth time, _no_!" Harry bellowed. "I refuse to be your lab-rat. And besides, all the Ministry wants that reading for is evidence to get me locked away for being too powerful."

Realizing his defeat, Croaker stiffened. "Very well. If you won't do this the easy way, then I suppose we'll have to do it the hard way."

The old man whipped out his wand and sent a Stunner at Harry—or, rather, where Harry had been. Harry was too paranoid and too fast to let the Unspeakable get the drop on him. He'd moved away at the first movement of Croaker's wand arm.

"There is no easy way, and there is no hard way. There is only _my_ way," Harry intoned. He then cast a charm to fill the office with a heavy mist.

Croaker shot another Stunner at him, but this time Harry rolled to the ground in front of the desk and tossed his invisibility cloak over himself. At the same time, he threw a Muggle "popper" to where he once stood. When timed perfectly, it appeared he'd managed to Apparate out of the Department of Mysteries, which the wards wouldn't usually allow. It wasn't the first time he'd used that trick, but it was the first time in the Ministry. Merlin, he loved messing with the Ministry.

Clearing the mist, Croaker shrieked, "Get the Aurors outside! He's powerful enough to Apparate through the wards. _Shit_!"

Harry held in a chuckle. He waited a few minutes before, still covered by the cloak, striding out of the office, taking the lifts to the atrium, and Flooing back to the Burrow.

* * *

The entire Weasley family was waiting for him, gathered around their well-worn kitchen table to listen to Harry tell them everything about his most recent encounter with the Ministry. He launched into his tale and finished with a long-suffering sigh.

"Harry, dear, what will you do? You can't keep dodging the Ministry forever," Molly fretted.

Arthur nodded. "They'll never give up, you know. The Ministry wants you kept under lock and key more than they ever wanted Voldemort taken down."

"That's because Harry's an even greater threat," Charlie said.

"Harry would never go dark!" Ron exclaimed.

"But he doesn't bend to the Ministry's will," Hermione explained. "And being the one who actually defeated Voldemort gives him a huge support base within the general public. If ever he wanted to take over the Ministry, Harry would likely have the support of most every ordinary witch and wizard."

"Wicked," the twins said, their eyes gleaming mischievously.

Ginny shook her head. "But Harry wouldn't do that. Would you?"

"Of course not. As far as I'm concerned, the Ministry can go screw itself," Harry assured her. "But I'm worried about what they're going to do to you lot when they've finally had enough of me. They know how close we are."

"Whatever it is, we can handle it," Bill promised. Fleur nodded with him.

Suddenly, Percy's Patronus danced into the room. The silvery beagle seemed to howl, '_Ministry is coming. Send him away or hide him.'_

"That's my cue to leave," Harry sighed. "I don't know when it'll be safe for me to come back, but know that I love you all and appreciate everything you've ever done for me."

Molly squeezed him once more before thrusting him toward the back door.

Harry grabbed Hermione in a tight hug. "Promise you won't look for me. Stay safe."

"I won't promise that," she threatened. "I'll always try to keep you safe. Merlin knows someone needs to."

Harry simply shook his head at her and then leapt out the back door into the falling darkness.

* * *

Once hidden in the nearest copse of trees, Harry Apparated to a half dozen different places before heading back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Hiding the magical signature of his Apparation trail was a pain, but it had to be done. Shortly after the war, he'd cleaned up the house and recast the Fidelius with a trusted ally the Ministry was unlikely to ever consider as his Secret-Keeper. No one else, not even Ron and Hermione, knew the secret. He'd meant to keep it as a bolthole in case the fame got to be too much. Harry never really thought he'd have to hide from the Ministry. That seemed foolish now—a power would always abhor those more powerful than itself.

_But what to do now?_ Harry mused. _All this time and money and nothing to do with it…_

"Would Master Lord Potter-Black likes one of Dobby's grilled-cheesy sandwiches?"

Harry whipped around and nearly blasted Dobby's head off in shock. "Merlin, Dobby, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here? And how many times do I have to tell you, it's just Harry."

"Dobby is sorry for scaring Master Harry, but Dobby sensed that Master Harry sir wouldn't be returning to his old flat. Dobby could feel his new home, so he Apparated here. And he brought all Master Harry's things with him, he did!"

Harry scratched his head for a moment and then sagged a bit—he would never really understand how house elves could be so powerful and wise and yet so… enthusiastic.

"Uh, that would be great, Dobby. Thanks for all that," he replied.

Harry trudged up the stairs to the study. He sat at the heavy wooden desk and idly rubbed its smooth finish, thinking deeply about what he was going to do with his life for the foreseeable future. Any job in the wizarding world was out—the price on his head was too great for anyone to resist. And, thanks to Hogwarts, he was completely unqualified for nearly every job in the Muggle world.

It stood to reason that Option C was to create his own job. It would have to be in the Muggle world, but he would need to use his magic as well as the logic he learned from Muggles in order to keep his identity hidden. Harry also wanted to make a tangible difference, to do something that would make life better for ordinary people.

He jotted the ideas down and stared pensively at them. When he'd read through the list of requirements several times, understanding washed over Harry, and he dropped his head to the desk.

He wanted to be a superhero.

* * *

Despite sending his internal cliché-meter off the charts, Harry dove into his superhero preparation wholeheartedly. He and Dobby brainstormed all the possible skills he would need to brush up on, and he did so with ease. Healing, fighting, shielding, transfiguration — all of it was so much easier with the power he could finally access without the Horcrux in his head.

Harry's first outing was simple. He was dressed in black from head to toe and wearing a mild Notice-Me-Not Charm. He walked through a seedier part of London and quickly came upon a mugging.

A man slipped up behind an elderly gentleman and stuck a knife against his back. "Give me your wallet, and I won't gut you where you stand," he threatened.

Harry silently conjured a balaclava and slipped it over his head. "You won't do it anyway. Put the knife down and no one gets hurt."

The mugger pulled the knife away and pointed it toward Harry. "Who the hell are you? Because whoever you are, you're about to be a dead one. Now give me that—" The mugger stopped when he saw the old man had escaped.

"You were saying?" Harry taunted.

"You're a dead man," the mugger growled, and he lunged at Harry.

Harry swung a fist that only almost connected with the man's jaw. What _did_ hit the guy was the wandless Stunner coming from Harry's other hand. _All that sleight of hand practice with Dudley's third slice of toast,_ Harry chuckled internally.

When he had tied the man up and pinned a note for the police to his chest, Harry slipped into a payphone and dialed 999 to report an attempted mugging. Before the bobbies could arrive, he slipped into the shadows and Apparated away.

* * *

Harry's next dozen outings followed a similar pattern—find a problem by stumbling onto it or hearing it on a police scanner, fix it, slip into the shadows, and Apparate home. But staying hidden was difficult. After being sighted by police several times, the media had latched onto his "identity" and purpose. One morning's news headline read "Vigilante 'Shadow' Saves Three, Busts Drug Ring."

It was nice to be appreciated without being feared or bombarded with other responsibilities. Harry easily could pop out, save a few people, and be home in time to catch Snyder on "The Late Late Show." But, at times, it was incredibly lonely.

* * *

Two months after his first "operation", as he'd begun to think of them, Harry heard the most frightening call yet come over the scanner. Gunmen were holding hostages in a Tube station, and Harry immediately headed out to help. He popped down a side street near the station and pushed his way up to the police barricade, trying to hear more about what was going on. It was no use—the noise of the crowd, the sirens, and the radio static made it impossible to get any information. He'd just have to go in blind.

Harry slipped back to the alley, donned his mask, and Apparated down into the station. For safety's sake, he applied a Disillusionment Charm. He crept down onto the platform and surveyed the situation.

There were two gunmen, each dressed in gray and armed with a pair of pistols. The first had a gun trained on the quivering hostages, and the other was aiming at the police officers bottlenecked on the stairs. A hostage was slumped against the wall with what appeared to be a bloodied jumper tied over her thigh. _Hermione had a Weasley sweater exactly that color._ The thought made Harry shudder. But she was safe – either at the Burrow or her cottage in Hogsmeade.

Just as Harry revealed himself, the police officers started yelling, the gunmen yelled back, and the police opened fire. As the gunmen dove behind concrete columns, Harry threw up his strongest shield in front of the hostages and ran toward them. As the bullets continued to fly, he directed the hostages up the other flight of stairs and off the platform. He reached down to help the wounded hostage, and Harry's heart fell to his shoes. Hermione didn't just have a sweater that color—it _was_ Hermione's sweater.

"I'm dying," she chuckled darkly. "The bullet had to have nicked my femoral artery. No use in trying to save me now, Shadow, or whatever you're called. I don't know who you are, even though I've been desperately trying to figure it out."

"My name's not Shadow, and you're not dying. Not on my watch," Harry said gruffly.

Hermione snorted faintly. "No, I'm really gonna die, even though the masked superhero has come to save me. Shame real life doesn't work like the cinema. At least _those_ people get to find out who saved them."

"Shut up," he muttered.

"I'm gonna die, and I don't even know your name. Please, tell me your name," she whispered.

"You've always known my name, Hermione," he said, tugging back his mask.

Hermione gasped and then smiled faintly. "I should've known it was you. It's always you."

She went limp in his arms, and Harry, doing the only thing he knew, crept into the shadows and popped her back to Grimmauld Place.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This chapter is a little bit shorter than the previous one, but I thought a little bit more of the story was better than nothing, so here we are! And I'm not completely up to speed on all the details of the Fidelius Charm, but we're running with it anyway. In my mind (and therefore in this story), it makes sense that recasting the charm would remove someone's memory of the secret if they had learned it under an old charm. Let me know your thoughts!

* * *

Chapter 2

"_Dobby_!" Harry screamed as his feet hit the floor of his bedroom. The little elf popped into the room as Harry gently laid his dying best friend on his bed. "I need—"

"Blood-Replenishing Potion, Wound Cleaning Potion, Pain Potion, warm water, and towels! Dobby is on it!" he squeaked, disappearing again.

Harry turned back to the bleeding girl. He needed to start with the necessary healing spells, but he paused as he realized Hermione's jeans were in the way. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable when she woke up—and she would wake up, he just had to believe that—but he didn't have a lot of options.

He ripped off her Weasley-sweater-turned-tourniquet and took a deep breath. "Hermione would have a better way of doing this," he muttered to himself as he wandlessly vanished her jeans. Keeping his eyes laser focused on the task at hand, Harry carefully summoned the bullet out of her thigh.

Dobby popped back into the room, carrying a tray full of supplies.

"One—no, two—vials of Blood-Replenishing," Harry barked.

He snatched the Wound-Cleaning Potion and doused the area before throwing every healing charm he knew at the wound. He and Dobby spent the better part of an hour forcing potions down Hermione's throat and trying to stop the bleeding. Eventually there was nothing more they could do.

Harry stood over her, wringing his hands and willing her to wake up or even just move a bit.

Dobby tugged gently at his sleeve. "Master Harry has done all he can. Harry Potter must get some rest now, sir."

Shaking his head, Harry conjured a comfortable arm chair next to his bed and grabbed Hermione's hand. "Tea please, Dobby," he murmured.

Dobby opened his mouth as if to reply but popped away instead.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand and whispered, "Come back to me, Hermione. Please, don't you leave me, too."

* * *

Somewhere in the night, Harry jerked awake. His neck twinged painfully as his head came up off the mattress, but the rest of his body was already tense, ready to defend himself from whatever pulled him from his fitful sleep. Just as he was about to call for Dobby, he felt a hand moving in his own.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered hopefully.

Almost imperceptibly, she squeezed his hand.

Harry gripped her tighter. "I'm here, Hermione. Please, just let me know you're all right."

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she instantly zeroed in on Harry. "I should have known it was you," she croaked, smiling weakly.

Harry jumped up and leaned over to throw his arms around her neck. "Merlin, Hermione, you scared me. I thought I told you to stay safe!"

"Harry. Can't. Breathe. Crushing. Chest."

He stood, thankful the darkness hid his blush. "Sorry. I'm just so happy you're all right."

"I could say the same about you. I haven't heard from you in months," Hermione whispered.

Their eyes locked on each other, both grateful for the knowledge that their best friend was alive and there in front of them.

After a long moment, Hermione broke eye contact and began curiously studying her surroundings.

"I know this isn't your flat. So where am I, Harry?" she asked.

Harry quickly lit the lamp beside the bed so she could see better. "Well, you see, I, uh—"

"It must look different than the last time I was here, but I _know_ this place. I just can't put my finger on it."

"Well, I'd say you've only been in this room a few times before," Harry laughed nervously. "That's probably part of it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "And the other part?"

Harry gulped. "I kind of might have recast the Fidelius with a different Secret Keeper so that everyone would forget about this place."

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place," Hermione said slowly, feeling the words roll off her tongue like the lyrics to an old, forgotten song. Harry watched her face turn red as realization washed over her.

"That's the one," he said sheepishly.

She glared at him. "Do you know how long I have looked for this place? I have asked literally everyone what the name of Sirius's old house is. I _knew_ you would come here, but no one could tell me how to bloody well get here!" she screeched.

"Hermione, please calm down," Harry soothed. "You've nearly died. I don't think it's good for you to get upset like this right now."

"Dammit, Harry Potter, I'm allowed to be upset! My best friend ran away from me to hide in a place that I knew but couldn't remember because he apparently didn't want me to. What about that did you think wouldn't upset me?" she raged.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Hermione, it's not that I didn't want you around. Merlin knows I have been a sad, lonely excuse for a man cooped up here in this house. But it's not safe for me in the wizarding world, and it's not safe for anyone from that world to be in contact with me. If I'd told you where I was, if you'd been let in on the secret, you would have been over here every day, checking on me and doing all of the wonderful things that you do to help me. And that's what would have gotten you caught. I know Croaker and the rest of the Ministry want me bad, even if Kingsley is trying to keep them at bay. They would have tracked you here, then taken you into custody and made you spill everything you know using Veritaserum. Or maybe they'd use something worse, knowing the things Croaker and the Unspeakables had hidden down in the Department of Mysteries. I was really just trying to protect you."

Hermione slumped against the bed. "I knew it was for some stupid, noble reason like that. I'm still mad about it, but I suppose you're probably right on all accounts. I'll probably get over it."

Harry snorted. "Never change, Hermione. Never change."

"So, who's the new Secret Keeper?" Hermione asked, clearly filled with questions now that her rage had subsided.

"I needed to someone the Ministry would never suspect. That's why neither you nor any of the Weasley's got tapped for the job. But I also needed to be able trust this person completely. So it came down to the person I knew with almost no connection to me but an immovable moral compass that would never betray my secret. Any ideas?" Harry asked.

Hermione thought carefully. "Neville?"

"He made the short list," Harry conceded. "But with all the press coverage of us together right after the war, which is when I recast the charm, I thought he might be a bit too obvious as well."

Brow furrowed, Hermione went back to her mental drawing board.

"It's—"

"Don't you dare tell me," Hermione warned. "I want to figure this out."

Her face contorted as she thought, and Harry studied her expressions curiously. He could actually see her sort through a list of candidates in her mind, consider the possibility, and then cross them off. It was an amusing way to pass the time, and he fondly remembered the times he'd seen her with the same grimace while studying for an exam. After several minutes, her face lit up.

"Luna!" she cried. "Of course, she's perfect for the job. Completely trustworthy, and yet no one would ever suspect her because you've never been very close, in the public eye anyway."

"I came to the same conclusion," Harry confirmed.

Hermione beamed at him, and Harry had to laugh at her pride. Sometimes it took so little to make her happy.

"Well, now that I know what you've been doing and where you've been doing it, why don't you tell me how you've been," Hermione suggested.

Harry tugged at his collar. "Hermione, it's the middle of the night, and you've just been shot. I think I've gotten you all patched up, but you should still get plenty of rest. We can talk about this in the morning."

"You can bet on that," Hermione threatened playfully. "I still haven't heard how you became such a dab hand at healing charms."

"I'll tell you everything," Harry promised. "Just get some sleep first."

"I know I'm in your room. Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"I'll be right here in this chair," Harry explained. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you so quickly after you nearly died in my arms. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said. "Just sleep here with me. We did it a million times in that tiny cot when we nearly froze to death in the tent. We can do it again in this enormous bed with no problem"

Harry shook his head, ready to argue with her. Hermione's expression promised that would be a very bad idea right now.

"All right, all right, let me scoot you over," he muttered.

"I can do it!" she replied. She propped herself up and tried to scoot her butt over but immediately collapsed, her face almost green with pain.

"That's what I thought," Harry said under his breath. He put an arm under her knees and behind her shoulders then gently tugged her closer to the edge.

He quickly changed into his pajamas and got ready for bed.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered as he slid onto the other side of the mattress.

Harry smiled at her. "You'd have done the same for me."

"I mean it, Harry," she said seriously. "I couldn't ask for a better best friend."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I'll always have your back, Hermione, just like I know you'll always have mine."

The pair quickly drifted back to sleep, neither realizing they were still holding hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Okay folks, I dropped the ball a bit here. I had every intention of updating this story the first week of every month, but last month was just a bit of a wash. I finished grad school, graduated, and did some job hunting, so most of my "fun" work took a back seat. But I _hope_ that my personal busy season has (mostly) come to a close and that I'll be back to my semi-regular updating schedule.

This chapter took forever to write because interpersonal conflict is difficult for me, so hopefully this is the last big chunk of it. I promise we'll get back to at least a little action in the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me, and, as always, I love hearing what you guys think!

* * *

The mid-morning sun finally worked its way through the crack in the curtains to shine directly in Harry's eyes. He grimaced and fumbled one arm behind him for his glasses as a barrage of questions broke through his morning fog.

Why was he so abnormally warm? What was sitting on his chest? Why did it feel like he was about to fall off the bed? And why did he get a nose full of fuzzy stuff with every breath?

The weight on his chest shifted slightly, and Harry's eyes popped open. _Hermione_.

As the night before came flooding back to him, a wave of nausea hit him. The knowledge that he'd nearly lost his best friend was almost too much to bear. He pushed that thought away, choosing to focus on the knowledge that she was all right, that she was here and safe with him. Wrapped in his arm. Snoring softly. Cuddling into his chest. Which, now that he thought about it, was starting fill with warmth and relief and happiness and protective instinct and—

The sight of her sleeping so comfortably with him unearthed a gamut of emotions that Harry wasn't ready to confront at—he glanced at his clock—9:38 in the morning.

He slid out of bed, careful not to wake Hermione, and left a note instructing her to have Dobby fetch him from the training room when she woke. He gathered his workout gear on autopilot. As he snuck out the door, Harry couldn't resist one last time peek at a safe, peaceful Hermione.

Exquisite was too dull a word to describe her. The sunlight streaming onto the bed highlighted the slope of her fine cheekbones, the slight upturn of her nose. Cherubic lips, sleep-flushed skin, and the ever-unruly hair haloing her head painted the perfect picture of utter serenity, even as she reached out for the empty space where his body had been. She was nothing short of a Renaissance angel brought to life.

Harry shook himself and immediately decided that he needed to work out last night's lingering tension—because that had to be the reason his emotional responses were such a mess—and then take a nice cold shower.

Harry dashed downstairs to the kitchen, still toweling his hair. Maybe he could ask Dobby to make Hermione's favorite Turkish eggs for breakfast as a surprise. He pushed through the swinging kitchen door to find Hermione sitting at the table, sipping a mug of tea, and chatting with a very animated Dobby. She had on one of his old Gryffindor Quidditch shirts and a pair of his athletic shorts.

"Harry!" she cried. "I was hoping you'd finish up soon. Dobby made Turkish eggs, and I'm starved. Probably just a side effect of the adrenaline crash last night, but you know exactly how that is. He also gave me some of your clothes to borrow—I hope you don't mind."

Harry made a mental note to thank the little elf for somehow knowing exactly what to do. "Yeah, nearly dying will work up a bit of an appetite. Speaking of, you were supposed to have Dobby call me when you woke up. You didn't walk down by yourself, did you? I have no idea how well magic can heal a gunshot wound, but you shouldn't be overexerting yourself in any case."

Hermione glared at him. "Of course not, Harry. I saw your note, but I didn't want to disturb you while you were training. I asked Dobby to help me down here so I could keep him company while he made breakfast."

_Of course Hermione wouldn't jeopardize her recovery_, Harry berated himself. _Remember who you're talking to._

"But I did take a look at the wound." Hermione broke through his thoughts as she pushed up the hem of the shorts. "It looks pretty much completely healed. I don't have any soreness, and it's only a little tender."

Harry walked over and inspected her leg. It was a shiny pink and slightly puckered where the bullet had entered her thigh, but the tanned skin under his fingers didn't feel feverish, which was a good sign. The wound seemed to shrink slightly even as he watched. No matter how many years he'd been doing magic, it still found ways to amaze him.

"It looks like you're healing perfectly. There are a couple of other potions and a liniment that I can whip up to help prevent any scarring, but I'd say that you've got an otherwise clean bill of health," he told her. "I wish I didn't _have_ to know that magic was good for healing gunshots, but I guess I'm glad that I do."

"Well, at least we're prepared for the future," Hermione chirped.

Harry shook his head. "_I'm_ prepared for the future. You're going to be nice and safe back in the magical world, where there are no guns."

"Oh please, I'm not leaving you _here_, alone," Hermione argued. "It's just not healthy."

"I'm not alone. I've got Dobby," he countered.

She snorted. "Right, because that's a rational solution, living in your dead godfather's house with only a house elf for company. You said it yourself that you were lonely."

"Right, thanks for bringing Sirius into this," he snarked. "Dobby and I have been making it through just fine. And I'm not going to put you in danger just to make myself more comfortable."

"But shouldn't that be my decision?" she shouted.

Harry's hands, now clenched into fists, were beginning to shake. Why couldn't she just appreciate that he was trying to keep her safe and _not_ imprisoned, whether at Grimmauld Place or the Ministry? He bit his tongue, determined not to let slip something they'd both regret. He could see that Hermione was fighting as hard as he was to hold back her anger. Despite his state of agitation, it gave him a bit of hope that their friendship would make through this blow up relatively unscathed.

With what appeared to be a great effort, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I think Dobby was almost finished with breakfast. Why don't we discuss this after we've eaten? Perhaps we can both be a bit more reasonable with some food on our stomachs."

Plates loaded with eggs, crumpets, and sausages appeared on the table courtesy of Dobby, effectively pausing their debate. Brunch was a silent affair as they both prepared for the impending war of words. Plates were cleaned. Mugs were refilled. They sat at the table long after they'd finished eating and studied each other, as if trying to stare the other into submission. Finally, the tension simmering between them reached a boiling point.

Harry put his cup down and looked hard his best friend. "As much as I would love it, you can't stay here."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Where do you get off telling me—"

Harry held his hands up in supplication. "I know what you're going to say, but hear me out first."

With a fierce look, she settled back into her chair and gestured for him to continue.

"Right, well, it comes down to this. You know I can't ever really leave here and go back to the magical world, a world I gave everything to protect, just like you did. I don't want that for you. You deserve to live in the world you fought to belong in, and I can't give you that. If you stay with me, you'll never be able to safely return. The Ministry will dog your every step. If they have to, they'll take you in and force you to tell them where I am." Harry sat back and held his breath.

Rather than respond immediately, she studied him for a moment. "So your biggest concern is that if I stay here with you, I won't ever be able to move about safely and normally in the magical world?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I don't want you to miss out on the life you should have because you're essentially locking yourself in Grimmauld Place with me."

"And what is your plan for getting me back to the magical world safely now that I've been here? I have some very nosy neighbors that keep up with everything I do—what time I come home, who visits me, when I break routine. You know I'm not a convincing liar, Harry. How can you ensure that someone at the Ministry won't hear about this, put two and two together, drag me down into the Department of Mysteries, and find a way to make me tell them where you are?"

"I'll put false memories in your head when I Obliviate you."

A beat of silence passed before Hermione erupted.

"Like _hell_ you are!"

"I really think that's the best solution."

"How many people have you Obliviated, Harry? Do you trust yourself to take only, and I mean _only,_ the memories I have of being shot and staying with you? You know how disastrous Obliviation can be if you take too many memories or do it incorrectly."

Harry opened his mouth to shout back at her but quickly clamped it shut when he saw her jaw quiver.

_Her parents._

Merlin, how could he have been so callous? Just before he'd disappeared, Hermione had heard back from the magical Australian officials trying to help return the Grangers to her. Her memory charm taken too many memories. They'd have to remain the Dr. and Dr. Wilkins for the rest of their lives or risk severe, permanent damage, which wasn't a chance Hermione was willing to take. Harry had held her as she sobbed about it, yet here he was trying to use the same "solution" on her. It wouldn't matter to her that he was only going to take a small chunk of memories or that he was confident in his ability to so it safely. It's difficult for rationality to overcome fear.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think…"

She waved him off. "I know, I know, I just—I've worked so hard to become who I am. I just don't want to risk losing her."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "Well, so if I'm not going to…do _that_, we can just find a decent alibi for you that your neighbors will believe. You went to see an old Muggle friend? Drank too much and stayed a Muggle hotel? What if—"

"Can I talk now, Harry?"

He nodded and propped his elbows on the table, still wracking his mind for another solution.

Hermione looked him square in the eye. "What you don't know is that the Ministry still keeps close tabs on all of your friends."

"_What_?! Why didn't you tell me this to begin with?"

"Well, after you cut me off when I started getting the least little bit upset last night, it just never came up." She shrugged. "It's not like there's anything you or the rest of us could do about it. And it's not as bad as it was the first few months you were gone. They would literally follow me into shops, for Merlin's sake. Anyway, I think my new neighbors, who moved in right after you left are probably spying for the Ministry. I doubt they'd believe whatever lie I told them about my short disappearance, and I'd just be back to having a Ministry shadow. I wouldn't be able to do anything, go anywhere, see anyone without them constantly asking me questions. That's no life either, Harry."

He pushed a hand through his already messy hair. "It's better than never really being able to leave this house."

"But I could leave!" she protested. "Just because I wouldn't be able to live in the magical world doesn't mean I'd be trapped here. The people trailing me never followed me into the Muggle world, despite the fact that we both grew up as Muggles and would be perfectly comfortable meeting each other there." She shot him a dirty look for not thinking of that earlier. "I keep telling people that wizards are entirely too resistant to reason. They're also convinced that no one would ever want to reintegrate themselves into the Muggle world after learning magic."

"But what if they _did_ find out you were living mostly in the Muggle world, Hermione? All it would take is one Squib mentioning to the wrong person that they saw you at Tesco, and the Ministry would be all over you. I wouldn't be able keep you safe, no matter which world you were in."

"That's true whether I'm staying with you or not. You can't protect me from _everything_—yesterday was just sheer, dumb luck and you know it. But what if I could fix that? I know I can figure out a system that will allow me to detect a threat _and_ escape from it. I just need a little time."

He stared her hard for a moment. Hermione was right, of course. If the Ministry didn't believe whatever story she fed them, they'd never leave her alone again. And when it came to solving a problem, she'd never failed him before, so he was sure she'd figure out a workable solution for her safety. And it would be nice to have someone else around the house… just not at the cost of her well-being.

"You win," he sighed in defeat. Then he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Just hurry, okay? If this doesn't work, you know we're going to have to find a way to get you safely back to the magical world, and our window for plausible deniability is closing fast."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you, I'm not going back. But seeing as I already have an idea this shouldn't take too long. I'm going to the library to finish working on it. You're not getting rid of me so easily this time, Harry."

With that, she flounced out of the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** So about that monthly updating thing… I didn't mean to, but I lied. I am a lying liar who lies. My pants are aflame. I'm worse than skim milk. I sit on a throne of lies, and I can only offer up severe writer's block on this story and a computer crash as excuses. Forgive me, folks.

I've given up on promising any kind of regular update schedule. Like I've said before, I've been writing this as I go and letting the plot take me where it will. In an attempt to break through my block, I tried to map it all out on my old computer, but guess what wasn't backed up when it crashed? Yep. So I've actually got the next three chapters mapped out, but I'll make no more promises about when updates will happen. I don't like to lie. But here's a not-so-little update that will hopefully tide you over until we can get back to the real action!.

ALSO: Code Red was short lived British boy band in the late 90's.

* * *

Harry couldn't keep still. He offered to help Dobby with the dishes, but they were already clean. He asked Dobby to pop out for a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and, when the elf returned, went up to his study and read it cover to cover. He tried reading through a chapter of an old defense text, playing chess against himself, and even practicing some of the household spells he'd recently found in a book. Nothing could keep his mind off Hermione and the task she was tackling a few doors down.

After an hour of fidgeting, Harry gave up. He needed to know how it was going, and he needed to know _now_. He crept down the hall and opened the library door the tiniest bit—just enough to see inside. As soon as he did, a faint but shrill whine began emanating from the back of the library.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to wait much longer," Hermione called.

Harry made his way through the rows of books to what had always been Hermione's preferred table in the Black library. "Did you manage to put up a ward in here? Only I'm supposed to be able to do that."

Hermione smirked. "Nope. It's all part of my plan." She gestured to the sheet of parchment on top of the many scattered across the table.

He stepped forward to read over her shoulder and was suddenly far more conscious of their close proximity and the lingering scent of her conditioner.

"What do you think?"

Harry shook his head a bit to clear it. _Focus, damn it. _He cleared his throat and said, "Just a minute, Mione, you know I'm a much slower reader."

He finally looked down at the neat, bulleted list in her hands.

"This… This looks plausible," Harry said, trying to tamp down the relief and excitement threatening to fill his chest. "Why don't you walk me through the details."

Hermione sat up straight and adjusted her papers. Harry suddenly felt an odd nostalgia—she looked just like eleven-year-old Hermione getting ready to answer a question in Charms class. He was glad some things never changed.

"The first of your concerns I want to address is the possibility that I could be recognized in public," she began. "I've been testing out the Shrinking Charm on small bits of my hair, working my way up to larger sections, and I've found that it's easily reversible. I'll just have to remember where I want to stop it when I do that. Changing the color won't be any issue, I've known the Charm since fifth year. I'll have to straighten it by both magical and Muggle means because my hair's too thick for just the charm."

"But I haven't updated this place to add electricity. How's that going to work?" Harry asked.

She grinned, already prepared for that question. "Before electric straighteners, women used to put iron tongs in the fire and run them over their hair. I wouldn't use actual fire, of course, spells are much safer. So I think that, between the usual Charm and a pair of hot tongs, I should be able to get it straight."

"And what's this part about a ring?"

"_That_ I need to talk to you about." Hermione chewed her lip, and Harry imagined he could actually see the gears he knew were always turning in her head while she tried to explain something. "It would be good to have an easier, more reliable solution for disguising myself. Theoretically, if someone has enough power, they could Charm a piece of jewelry that would allow for repeated large-scale transfiguration. Kind of like what I did with the Protean Charm on the DA's coins, but… more. I was thinking you could try doing a ring for me."

Harry snorted. "Hermione, I hate to break it to you, but I know nothing about that kind of thing. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's just a theory. We can look into it later, but for now we have a workable solution for disguising me."

"Alright, alright, moving on," Harry said, far more curious about the next point. "You want to shrink a Sneakoscope and wear it as a necklace? Is that what I heard when I opened the door? Have you already shrunk it? When did you get a Sneakoscope?"

Hermione blushed and looked down. "Just think of it like the pocket Sneakscope Ron gave you for Christmas that year. And I, uh, don't have a Sneakoscope. I might have borrowed yours for this little experiment."

Harry rolled his eyes and let out an irritated huff. "Just assumed I wouldn't mind, huh?"

"No. I thought you'd mind until you realized it the Sneakoscope was an integral part of my plan and that this was the only way I could test my theory without sending Dobby out for one, which might draw some unwanted attention," she said calmly.

He let out a long breath. She was right, but he didn't have to like it. "Fine. I take it that your plan worked?"

"Yep, the Sneakoscope can be shrunk and returned to normal size without losing its defensive properties." She tapped her wand to a tiny silver trinket on the table, and his Sneakoscope was immediately set to rights.

"I'm okay with this, but I'm getting you your own," muttered Harry.

"That would be lovely, thank you," she said. "And now onto the final portion of my plan."

"Yeah, this looks kind of complicated, Mione. You want a Portkey?"

"I know you'll be able to make one as the head of an Ancient and Most Noble house. I want you to make a Portkey that I'll be able to activate either by touch or voice, but it needs to go to a secondary location."

"That's a good idea. We don't want a repeat of what happened while we were on the horcrux hunt."

"Exactly. So we need to find a secure secondary location and ward it to put down everyone except you, Dobby, and myself. I was brainstorming just which wards you could erect as a defensive mechanism. I was thinking something along the lines of a ward with a built in Stunning Charm—you know, non-lethal but still enough to subdue someone—but I'm open to suggestions."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "No, that's fine with me. I'll also need to make sure it alerts us all when someone enters the location via Portkey."

Hermione thought about it for a moment and shot him a questioning look.

"I need to know if your emergency plan has been activated," Harry said quietly. "I need to be able to get there and make sure you aren't still in danger or hurt or…"

He wouldn't think about that any further. They were making this plan so that she could stay safe. He needed her to stay safe. He couldn't lose his best friend.

Hermione took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "That's a great idea, Harry. Let me write that down."

As she jotted down a few notes, Harry couldn't resist asking just one more time. "Hermione, before we commit to any of this, I just have to make sure. Are you really okay with giving up your life in the magical world to hide near Muggle world with me? I just don't want to hold you back, and—"

Hermione whipped around and pinched his lips closed with her forefinger and thumb. "You need to listen to me and listen well, Harry Potter, because I'm only going to say this one more time. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, I'm fine moving mostly back into the Muggle world."

"But you could do so much!" he said around her hand. "And what about your future? Making a difference in the world?"

She let him go and turned away. "For all their talk about how important I was to the war effort and how much I've given the magical community, the Ministry was never going to let me do anything that was actually important. At least not for a very, very long time. I'm a Muggleborn. I don't have the right connections, and even with the Death Eaters out of the Wizengamot, that whole crowd is still incredibly backward and set in their ways. Honestly, that's true for most of magical Britain. Without you to help move things along, I don't see it getting better any time soon. I'm actually ready to leave."

"So you're really sure—"

"Enough!" Hermione cried. "You obstinate arse! I'm staying here with you, and I would really like you to be on board with how I plan to do it. So can I stay here without causing another fight?"

Harry looked at her for a long moment and felt moisture start to pool in his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I'd really like that."

She flung her arms around him and hugged him for all she was worth. "I hated knowing you were alone," she whispered fiercely.

"I hated being alone."

"Never again, Harry."

"...Promise?"

She pulled back and looked deep in his eyes. "I promise."

* * *

"Remind me what we're doing out here, warded to hell and Disillusioned?" Harry hissed. When their little heart to heart was finished, Hermione had immediately started casting charms on the two of them and insisted they Apparate to Sirius' former hideaway—the cave outside of Hogsmeade.

"I need to at least let someone know I'm alright," she murmured. "I was supposed to go to the Burrow for dinner tonight, and they'll know something's up when I don't show."

"Gonna send a Patronus?"

"Yeah, and then call Dobby to get us out of here."

"He'll will love that. Who are you going to send it to?"

She chewed her lip for a moment and then looked up at him. "I was thinking Neville. You two haven't really been in close contact since the end of the war, so I don't think he's got a constant tail anymore. And, like you said, he's totally trustworthy. He'll figure out how to get the message to the Weasleys somehow."

"Neville's a great choice. Where were you planning on sending it from?"

"When did you start asking so many freaking questions?" Hermione muttered under breath. "I was planning on sending it from right here. It's remote, no one will see it go, and we'll be able to leave quickly."

Harry hummed. "That's a good idea. But I have a counter offer."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him and motioned for him to proceed.

"What if we walked down to the edge of town and you sent it from there? I don't think anyone else really knows about this cave, and I'd like to keep it a secret as much as possible. It's a decent bolthole. If we're on the edge of town opposite Hogwarts, I don't think anyone will be around to see it, and even if they do, I doubt it would arouse any suspicion."

It was Hermione's turn to nod, though Harry could barely see her movements. "That's a good tactical move. Let's go."

They hiked the short way down from the cave and skirted Hogsmeade, giving even the outskirts of the town a wide berth. After an hour and a half of walking in comfortable silence, Harry felt Hermione's arm softly catch him in the chest.

"Does this look like a good enough spot to you?" she whispered.

"Looks fine to me," he replied. "What are you going to tell him?"

"That I'm alright. That I won't be able to come back for quite a long time. That I love them all and will miss them, but that I'm right where I need to be. And I need to tell him my safe phrase."

"Safe phrase?" Harry hadn't known any of his friends to need such a thing.

"We came up with them right after you disappeared," said Hermione. "Let me send this Patronus, and I'll explain it when we're back home."

As Hermione focused on sending her silvery otter, Harry caught himself grinning. _Home_. With someone else there—with Hermione there—Grimmauld Place might actually start to _feel _like home.

"Dobby?"

The little elf popped up in front of them. "What's can Dobby be of help with, Master Harry? Master Harry's Grangey?"

"Could you take us home, mate?" Harry asked.

He felt a slight squeeze, and then he found himself back in the kitchen of Number Twelve with Hermione.

* * *

"Thank you, Dobby!" Hermione called as she dropped her spoon onto her empty dessert plate.

"Will you tell me more about these safe phrases now?" Harry asked.

Hermione sat back in her chair. "We actually had two different phrases, one for identification if we were in public and one for danger, and a couple of other phrases to request meetings, send warnings, the like. They were all discreet enough to fit into a casual conversation, so it was easy to slip them past the Ministry's radar."

"You were afraid they'd take you," he breathed.

"Pretty much," she said. "Our 'Code Red' words were meant to be a way for us to say, 'Something feels weird, let's get out of here,' without tipping off anyone who might be listening."

Despite the anger he was feeling toward the government for interfering with his friends' lives, Harry felt himself smirk. "'Code Red'? I take it you named them? Because I seem to remember you having a crush on a certain boy band with the same name."

"Shut up," she giggled, shoving his shoulder lightly. "I thought it was a fitting name!"

"I bet you had their poster taped to your bedroom door!"

"I did n—" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "My bedroom— Harry, I don't have anything from my flat! Crookshanks is there! And so are all my photos and my books and my clothes, and I know the Ministry will be watching for me to come back now..."

"Would your wards let Dobby through?"

Dobby arrived with a small crack, already bouncing in anticipation. "Yes sir? Can Dobby help the Great Harry Potter sir?"

"They should, Harry, but I can't ask—"

Harry turned to Dobby and sighed. "Mate, you know it's just Harry to you. If you've got a moment, could you pop over to Hermione's place and clear it out? She's moving in to the room across from mine. We can put her extra furniture in one of the spare rooms."

"Oh, yes sir!" Dobby squeaked. He was practically vibrating with excitement, and Harry was a bit afraid he might splinch himself in this state. Could elves splinch themselves?

"Please be careful of any surveillance or traps," Hermione warned the elf. "They may already suspect I'm gone and hiding with Harry."

Dobby gave a little salute and disappeared.

"Come on," Harry said, waving for her to follow him. "He'll probably have half your bedroom moved over before we even get upstairs."

Sure enough, by the time they opened her door, Hermione's bedroom was almost complete. Crookshanks meowed loudly and launched himself into her arms. She walked over to her bed and plopped down on it, burying her face in the half-Kneazle's orange fur. Harry watched her glance around at her old furniture in a strange room in a somewhat familiar house, and, for the first time since he'd brought her back here, Hermione looked adrift.

"Would you like any help rearranging your furniture?" he offered.

She shook her head and offered him a small smile. "I think Dobby got everything just about perfect, as always."

He wasn't going to give up so easily. "Then how about some company?"

"That sounds lovely."

He flopped down on the bed next to her, and they passed the next few hours chatting about everything and nothing as Hermione mentally adjusted to her new home.

When he noticed she'd drifted off in the middle of one of his stories, Harry just shook his head. He took off her shoes and levitated her enough that he could get her situated under the quilt; Crookshanks curled around her feet. When he was sure she was sleeping deeply, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks for staying, Mione," he whispered into her hair. "Thank you for caring and trying and, just… thank you."


End file.
